


Addicted

by Spoodlemonkey



Category: NCIS: New Orleans
Genre: Aftercare, Facials, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, PWP, just porn, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 19:51:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10556746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoodlemonkey/pseuds/Spoodlemonkey
Summary: King loves seeing Chris on his knees





	

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to Miniatures! This is straight up porn...cause apparently I really like having King put Chris on his knees...just a little...

There's something addicting about this.

  
About the little thrill of power that races down his spine every time he gets Christopher before him, down on his knees. In the way the younger man is so still for him, fists clenched loosely, resting on his thick, muscular thighs. In the way he waits so patiently for King to take the lead, to have his back the way he always does.

  
It's a natural progression of their partnership. From the streets to the attic he's taken refuge in.

  
The warm light of the lamp next to the bed casts shadows across Christopher's upturned face, on his cheek bones,on the cupid's bow of his lips, his eyes molten in the low light. His hard angles have softened, begging to be touched, and he does, trailing the backs of his fingers along the long stretch of Christopher's throat. He can feel him swallow, feel the rapid beat of his pulse.

  
King traces the softness of his lips, uses his thumb to pull out that sweet lower lip. Christopher's mouth drops open, the pink of his tongue visible. Christopher watches, eyes half lidded, blush high on his cheeks, loose in a way he normally isn't.

  
He pulls back slowly, watches as Christopher unconsciously licks his lips. The younger man has been naked since they began and his cock is hard and red against his thigh. He can see the liquid pearling  at the tip, a flush rising up his chest, but the only sign of how desperate he really is, is the slight flexing of his fists and the way his breathing speeds up as King reaches for the button of his jeans.

  
The zipper is obscenely loud in the small room. He eases it down, careful of the way his cock is straining against it, has been for what feels like ages. His briefs bulge and he reaches out, drags Christopher in to feel him nuzzle against his clothed cock. He mouths at the fabric, sucking desperately, needy sounds escaping him as King shifts, nudging his leaking cock with his toes.

  
Christopher moans, the vibrations going right through his cock and up his spine as sparks of heat. King grasps him by the back of the neck, digs his fingers in just hard enough that it's guaranteed to leave a bruise and pulls him back again. Over the years they've thought of collars, of toys, and ropes, but it all comes back to this, to King's grip on Christopher, solid.

  
"Stay." He orders just to see the way Christopher's eyes glaze over.

  
He releases him to push his jeans down, sliding out of his clothes and tossing them to the side until he's bare before him. Christopher watches with rapt attention, gaze feeling like a caress to his overheated skin.

  
"Hands behind your back." King tells him and Christopher immediately complies.

  
He steps forwards, the way Christopher's mouth drops open like a punch to the gut. He strokes his cock in a loose fist, close enough that the head bumps Christopher's lips, leaving them slick with pre come. He thinks about taking this further, laying Christopher out on the bed and taking him apart with his mouth, but it's been a long day and that's not what they need at this moment.

  
"Come here." He holds his cock out of the way, twists his fist around the tip, and lets Christopher suck his balls into his mouth, laving at them with his talented pink tongue. It's bliss-- having Christopher here, his gorgeous mouth on him, and in these moments he knows that he wants nothing more out of life than what he has.

  
He jerks his cock faster, grip slick now, feeling that familiar feeling at the bottom of his spine, the tightening in his gut. His hips are moving, fucking his fist.

  
It takes all his willpower to pull Christopher back again, to wrap one hand around the pale column of his throat, feel his pulse thundering against his palm, and hold him steady.

  
"Open your mouth." Christopher's mouth falls open easily, tongue peeking out. It doesn't take much more, he knew it wouldn't, the slide of his palm on his cock is too good, the beautiful picture Christopher presents for him too much.   
His come splashes across Christopher's face, landing on cheek, his eyelashes. King presses the tip of his cock to his mouth, milks the last of it out onto Christopher's tongue.

  
He ends up on his knees, watching as Christopher swallows, his hand wrapped around his cock. He reaches up, swipes his come from his cheek as he jerks him off tight and quick.

  
Christopher whines, almost bent double and his touch is probably too rough, too fast, but he knows if it's really too much that they have a safeword and neither of them will think less of the other for using it. His thighs tremble, hands still clamped firmly behind his back.

  
"That's it," King catches his mouth, tastes his own come as he slides his lips across his cheek. The kiss is dirty, teeth clacking as Christopher sucks desperately on his tongue. He pulls back with a gasp. "You're doing so good Christopher."

  
His thumb rubs over the soaked head of his cock, nail digging into the slit. He's panting, body straining towards his orgasm. His cock is rock hard, pre come streaming from the tip and King doesn't let up, doesn't give him a chance to fuck his fist, just squeezes tighter and moves faster until Christopher goes rigid, tendons in his neck standing out, stark against his skin, and he comes with a shout.

  
King catches him as the tension leaves his body abruptly, cradles him close as he gentles his touch, keeps stroking, milking his cock, until Christopher starts to shake from overstimulation.

  
He sits him at the end of the bed and grabs a warm washcloth from the washroom. He keeps his touch light as he wipes them both down, then tosses it in the sink to deal with it later. Christopher is pliant in his arms, letting him arrange him as he wants, tucked up against his side under the blankets.

  
Christopher hums happily, latching on easily, arching into his touch as he runs his hand up and down the line of his spine.

  
"Do you need anything?" He asks, voice barely a whisper. It feels like anything louder will disrupt the peace that's fallen over them. "Water?"

  
"I'm fine." Christopher's hand comes to rest above his heart; he can see the vivid red marks from where his nails dug into his wrists. He'll have to look at them later, neither of them are interested in moving at the moment.

  
He presses a kiss to Christopher's temple, unsurprised when he tilts his head up, catching his lips. It's slow and chaste, reaffirmation. It's moments like these that he's addicted to, the moments where it's just them, no barriers between.


End file.
